


Hurt

by TheDork2life



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito-centric, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Komaeda Nagito, Other, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28951107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDork2life/pseuds/TheDork2life
Summary: Why is it that he feels this way? When he receives any kindness or tender gestures, it's foreign and painful. He craved soft touches, and loving words, and affectionate gazes, and the safety of something called home. He wanted it more than anything else. In the form of Hinata, or maybe even Nanami, or anyone who would be willing. It was so unattainable. Farther out of his reach than the stars themselves, hanging over his head with a million more years of loneliness than he's ever felt.But whenever he finds serenity, he knows he tears it apart.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Talks of suicide/self harm, self hatred, alcohol, general unhealthy behavior, dissociation, sensory overload, sad/ambiguous ending.

The city was never quiet, especially at night. 

There lived thousands of people, roaming the pavement next to skyscrapers. Or perhaps pushing past glass doors to enter a small shop, the smell of rosemary lingering to someone's knitted sweater. Laughter could be shared under streetlights, with alcohol fresh on someone's tongue. 

It would be perfect. It would seem perfect. Komaeda could look out and see it happening right before his eyes, then he would yearn for it. He would hurt for it too. 

"What are you looking at?"

Komaeda blinked, turning their head to face Hinata, who was sitting across from them. They smiled, hazy guilt dripping down their throat as they spoke. 

"Nothing. Just thinking. It's very beautiful here, is it not?"

Hinata raised an eyebrow. He was always so skeptical, but he smiled back nonetheless. "Yeah, it is. How'd you even find this place? I thought you didn't like the city or whatever."

That brought out a dark chuckle. "I have my ways."

It was simple. Not an answer. Komaeda never answered anything anymore. Only half truths and sputtered lies, even if he was more than willing to spill his guts given the opportunity. He wondered too, if people listened to him merely out of pity or obligation, because he knew it was crass. People shouldn't complain so much. He shouldn't complain so much. 

He took his warm cup of hot chocolate in his hands, teeth clenching at the slight burn. Hinata was so nice, willing to waste his money on him. Komaeda should have said no. 

"Thanks for paying. I could always pay you back, or… or maybe give you a gift," Komaeda said, leaning their elbows on the table. "I didn't do anything to deserve it, so—"

"Stop."

And that was always so sudden too. They bit their lip, letting a strained laugh bubble up out of their mouth. There was nothing amusing about it. There was nothing amusing about the way they deteriorated in front of their friends, and made it a spectacle for everyone to see. Though, Komaeda didn't do it on purpose. They tried really hard not to, in fact, because they knew it was tiresome. Burdensome. Annoying. Like their whole existence. Like every time they breathed it was an offence to everyone else. 

"I'm sorry."

A deep sigh. "It's okay. And it's okay to let me buy things for you too, you know that, right?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

It would never change unless he tried harder. He suddenly felt like the lights were too bright and the talking was too loud and the pain on his wrists was unbearable. His trembling fingers clutched the mug, a tenuous, almost faltering, feeling of bittersweet bliss running through his blood. 

Why is it that he feels this way? When he receives any kindness or tender gestures, it's foreign and painful. He craved soft touches, and loving words, and affectionate gazes, and the safety of something called home. He wanted it more than anything else. In the form of Hinata, or maybe even Nanami, or anyone who would be willing. It was so unattainable. Farther out of his reach than the stars themselves, hanging over his head with a million more years of loneliness than he's ever felt. 

But whenever he finds serenity, he knows he tears it apart. 

"Hinata-kun."

The other hums. "What?"

"Have you ever hated yourself?"

Hinata's eyes widened before he frowned. "What does that mean?" he asked, voice taut. A natural reaction to such absurdities. "I didn't know you wanted to become a therapist all of a sudden."

"Au contraire, my love. This is for me, not you." Komaeda grinned and twisted their wrist, thick sleeves hiding their trauma. "Answer the question."

Truly selfish behavior. They made everything about themself, and they didn't even have to try. Whether it be about their issues, or their passions, or things they didn't even care about, Komaeda was stuck in their own head. 

Hinata's gaze dropped to the ground. Was he going to commit to answering? 

"I've… hated myself. Once. A long time ago. But I'm better now, and  _ I _ actually tried to get better!"

Komaeda's grin grew wider.  _ Liar _ , he thought harshly,  _ I caught you downing a bottle last week.  _ It was such a cathartic thought indeed. To know that everybody around you was infected by this same despair, the same weight of agony that every human experiences. Except Komaeda stopped fighting it. Hinata was so brave and strong, and he was willing to ask others to bring him down when he was about to jump off a cliff. He wasn't selfish. He always tried to help. He knew everything. And he knew how to lie. 

"Oh? What do you mean by "actually tried?"" They said with a coo. "Do you think I don't?"

Hinata's eyebrows furrowed and he scowled. "What are you talking about? Of course I think you try!"

"You don't. That's why you always try to be so gentle with me. You think I can't handle it. You think I'm going to fly off the handle or kill myself if you take it too far. It's been the same for years now, so why would it be any different this time? Don't lie to me Hinata-kun, you think I'm a lost cause!"

"Shut the fuck up Komaeda! Who gave you the right to say that to me?!"

Komaeda laughed, rolling their eyes. Hah… it was so easy. And it  _ hurt _ . Tearing, searing, wretched. Hinata's sharp tone cut into them, their heartbeat quickening at a dizzying pace. In the lapse between each beat, they gasped a shallow breath. 

"It's true, though. I'm a failure! If you don't want me to say it to you, then just let me die. You'll never have to hear my voice again. You won't have to waste your precious time trying to accommodate me!" They wrapped their arms around themself. "Nobody will miss me when I'm gone. And when you try and tell me that  _ you _ will miss me, I already know that. I know. I know. I know. You care about me, Hinata Hajime, and you  _ hate  _ it. You want to pretend like I'm—"

_ BANG!  _

Komaeda flinched, ducking under his arms instinctively. 

"You're pathetic."

He lowered his arms and gazed with bleary eyes across the expansive table. Hinata had slammed his fist on the glass, teeth bared. This was it. 

"You are right. I  _ don't _ want you to get hurt, but this is ridiculous. What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Shuddering, Komaeda glanced around to the other tables. A few people were staring, clearly having heard the commotion. The attention was suffocating. Despite being outdoors, under the blanket of a light-polluted night sky, it still felt as though everything was too small. So close. So tight. Their lungs were trapped against their tiny ribcage. 

They had nothing to say anymore. The words that fell out were there forever, and Komaeda knew in a few days they'd be overcome by regret, followed by a sleepless night where they could only fantasize about doing it differently. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't beautiful. But it was exhilarating, almost addicting, because the more that it hurt, the easier it would be to deal with it the next time. And there was  _ always  _ a next time. 

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it." So harsh. So bitter. 

"I know. Don't look at me, please."

Hinata turned away, facing the large glass window and watching the employees sweep the inside. It was vapid. Everything around them was reduced to a foggy imitation of what it once was. 

"Komaeda…" Hinata started, eyes narrowed and tired looking, "why do you do that? You can't seriously believe the things you claim. Isn't it irritating to deal with all of this shit you put yourself through?"

Utter despair. 

"Haha."

"Komaeda?"

He was see-through. Not real. There was really nothing tethering him to the physical realm besides a cut up body, abused by oneself. And perhaps he should have seen it coming. He couldn't run away forever. He couldn't keep putting Hinata-kun under emotional distress every time he was having a breakdown. It wasn't fair to the other. No amount of apologizing, compensating, or backtracking would undo the harm that lay in his wake. Everyone figured that out long before Komaeda did. 

"It's very tiring," he spoke softly. He spoke as if nobody else in the world existed. "I'm always tired. Everyday. Hinata-kun, I wish I could fix it all. I dream of a world where I never hurt myself, where I never hated myself, where I never became a failure. But that's not the world we live in. Besides, even if I took the time to explain, you'd never be able to grasp the extent to which I despise myself. It would be a terrible strain in your psyche."

Hinata didn't respond. It was for the better, so Komaeda continued. 

"If nothing else, do know that I mean it every time I say I'm sorry. If I weren't so hysterical, I wonder if I wouldn't have to do it so often. It's not your fault you got dragged into my mess."

Life was arduous. So much like death, an intangible illusion grasping reality in it's claws. But it was constant. If Komaeda and Hinata and Nanami and the rest of their friends weren't here, the planet would continue spinning. Yet they were here anyways. And they've loved, and they've cried, and they've bled. 

"...I-It's okay, I—"

"It's not, Hinata-kun, It's not."

His voice was so far away, an echoing static snuffed out by booming city noises. Komaeda's limbs were numb pressed up against his heavy body, but not nearly as numb as his brain, fizzling out all sensation. Memories throbbed like migraines. Empathy ached like heartburn. Why not stop all of it, before it was too late? 

"Komaeda."

"..."

"Komaeda?"

"..."

They were floating. Cotton. Their head was filled with cotton. And they were so tired, each laborious breath coming out slow. They were hardly breathing at all. 

"Hey…….. come on….."

_ Are _

_ you _

_ okay? _

"Nagito!"

They jumped, blinking rapidly. Hinata was closer now, a light hand on their shoulder to pull them back to the world of the living. 

"Let's go home."

Komaeda wanted to respond, but their mouth was dry. Not a sound made it out of their tight throat. They only stood up when Hinata pulled them up. 

"Home?" Komaeda eventually repeated. Their meek voice was unrecognizable. 

"Home."

And he led them while they stumbled forward with crooked steps, feet dragging against the pavement. Back to the train. Back to the apartment. Back to solitude. They did not speak, for the only thing that would come out is a slurred mess. They did not look up, for their burning eyes were brimmed with tears. 

_ Oh Hinata.  _

_ You should know by now.  _

_ I don't have a home.  _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if this was incomprehensible word vomit, this was a heavy vent fic that I also tried to make in character


End file.
